


Long Sleeves, Short Tempers

by Kevin_Mask (Nikolai_Knight)



Category: Kinnikuman Nisei | Ultimate Muscle
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Intergenerational Friendships, One Shot, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21746017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikolai_Knight/pseuds/Kevin_Mask
Summary: Kid and Mantaro worry when Robin starts to bruise.They concoct a plan to uncover the truth, annoying the Legends in the process.
Relationships: Kinnikuman | Kinniku Suguru & Kinniku Mantaro, Terry the Kid & Kinniku Mantaro
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Long Sleeves, Short Tempers

_‘You bruise easily . . .’_

_Robin winced. The steam from the_ en suite _billowed out behind him, enveloping him like an aura and catching at his reddened skin, and the droplets – small and light – might have enticed her at some other time in their marriage, as his towel barely clung to his waist. A few greys had become many grey hairs, and they were visible without the mask. The lines at his eyes deepened. Time waited for no man, and he moved slowly to the bed . . . no longer did he run to ravish her, no longer did he dive onto the sheets to sprawl out for sleep . . . a smile broke over his cheeks._

_He touched at the green-and-purple bruise on his ribcage. He hissed. A sharp sting ran through the nerves and spread out like a spider-web, until he dropped his hand at his side, and – as he sat down – the mattress dipped under his weight. A red mark was visible on the back of his hand, like a thin and raised line across wrinkling flesh. He tilted his head to look into the eyes of Alisa, who stared back with a raised eyebrow and arms folded across her chest._

_‘I never used to,’ muttered Robin._

_The first-aid box still sat on the bedside-table, where it lay open to many bandages. Alisa smoothed her skirts with the soft pads of her pale hands, as she sighed and pushed back a lock of grey hair, and – with a smile that brightened her blue eyes – she took one of the disinfectant sprays from the box. He knew the routine. It was the same one after every fight, every match, every accident . . . Robin bit into his lip, as Alisa sat beside him and whispered:_

_‘We should bandage that up.’_

_He tensed. There was a sharp coldness from the spray, while Alisa expertly attended to the bruises and bandaged his wounds, and yet – despite her warm conversation and gentle kisses – his heart raced in his chest with deafening beats. The soft white cotton wound around his ribcage, as he forced slow and deep breaths. A loud ticking marked down the minutes to midnight. He screwed tight his eyes and counted down the seconds. He flinched as knuckles brushed against the worst of the bruises. Alisa continued to tend to him, as he choked out through a dry mouth:_

_‘Yeah . . .’_

* * *

Mantaro staggered back on the canvas. The ropes collided with his back, cushioning his collapse. It was that familiar feeling of falling and being caught, both at the same time, as the ropes gave way with the weight of his body and yet somehow kept him mostly upright. He threw his arms around the top rope, while his head threw backwards and he stared up at the harsh stadium lights high above, and every panted breath caused his chest to rise and fall in rapid succession.

Seiuchin came behind him, as he patted down his sweating brow with a wet cloth. Checkmate yelled out something that sounded like support. He pulled himself upright and stumbled forward, with each footfall weak and barely able to hold his weight. He dove from side to side. He stopped. Robin was just a few feet away from him . . . too far to punch, close enough to dive . . . Mantaro bit into his lip, while he struggled to focus his gaze. Robin raised his bruised right arm high and made a ‘come here’ motion with fingers, before he spat out in a harsh voice:

“Your form is off, Junior!”

Robin dove. A muscular arm wrapped around Mantaro’s neck, so that his throat was constricted in the crook, and – clawing and slapping at the aging skin – he was forced onto his back, as Robin knelt down onto the canvas. Mantaro kicked at the fabric. He choked for breath, only for a small release of pressure to allow him to gulp down the air around them. The colour returned to his cheeks. The blue shade eased off beneath his mask, while he stopped kicking and slapping and rested in relative silence. He continued to pant, as his hands clung to Robin’s arm.

“Hey, I’m doing my best,” shouted Mantaro.

“Your best isn’t good enough, my lad.” Robin held tighter. “If you’re going easy on me for my age, you’re making the _worst_ mistake by underestimating your opponent. You must always give every battle your absolute all, even under the controlled conditions of a sparring match, and each hesitation is an invitation for death when faced against evil chojin. You should know this!”

“I’m – I’m trying! It’s – It’s hard to breathe . . .”

“Have you been focusing so much on fancy moves that you’ve forgotten the basics? This is something you learned on day one at the Hercules Factory! I’ve got you by the neck, Junior, so you need to break free . . . how’re you going to do that? Can you manage it?”

The arm about his neck was the right arm . . . _a bruise around his wrist at the start of the match, moves that relied heavily on his left side despite being right-handed, little yelps any time pressure was applied to the hand_. . . Mantaro took in a deep breath. He punched. The clenched fist collided hard with the yellow-and-green bruise, enough that Robin howled like a beaten dog and collapsed onto his left side, and there – with twists and turns – his wrist was cradled against his chest, while tears could be seen behind the black mesh of his mask.

Mantaro rolled onto all fours. He coughed and spluttered, until a few specks of saliva fell from his mouth and onto the mat, and bile burned at the back of his throat, as he awkwardly sat back and regained his vision and normal breathing patterns. Robin still lay on the mat. Warsman raced across the stadium, where he jumped over the ropes and helped Robin to sit upright. A few low and long groans followed, while a sling was handed to him, and soon the injured arm was wrapped up tight. Mantaro struggled to control his racing heart, as he choked out:

“S-Sorry! You told me ‘any means necessary’ earlier and –”

“It’s – It’s fine, Mantaro . . .”

“It doesn’t look fine.” Mantaro winced. “Did I make it worse? Did I break it? I can call the medic, if you think it needs like an x-ray or something, and Meat taught me how to massage sprains and stuff! How’d you even hurt it that bad, anyway?”

A low sigh escaped Robin. He walked over to Mantaro, where he bent low and slapped a hand on his shoulder, before he ruffled his hair and walked towards the ropes with a chuckle. Warsman help open a gap in the ropes, so that Robin could climb out, and – with some difficulty – he was led to a ring-side seat by Meat and Seiuchin. A draught blew over the ring, as Mantaro stumbled toward the ropes and fell forward. He swung on them a few times, as he kept his eyes locked on Robin, and Robin simply sipped on a protein drink offered to him. Robin called back:

“I’ll be fine, lad. Now get back to the fight.”

“But your wrist is still –”

“This time Warsman will be your opponent. Now hurry up!”

Warsman chuckled. He cracked his knuckles, before he jumped into the ring. A high-pitched yelp tumbled from Mantaro’s lips, as he fell backwards and crawled towards the corner-post, and called out for Meat to throw in the towel, while Kevin mocked him from the bleachers. The sight of him with popcorn and half-reclined was nearly enough to inspire Mantaro to fight . . . _nearly_. Warsman wasted no time in aiming for him, as he aimed his claws direct for Mantaro’s head, but – each time – Mantaro dodged the attack with expert reflexes. Robin shouted:

“If you lose this time, it’s twenty laps!”

* * *

“Dude, he hurt his _arm_ . . . his arm!”

Kid rolled his eyes. Mantaro gestured wildly to his wrist, as if he could make the shape and colour appear as described, but – seeing it ineffective – he instead snatched at Kid’s wrist and wrapped his fingers tight around it, while muttering ‘like this’. Kid sighed, as he slapped Mantaro on his back and freed his hand. The two of them stood in awkward silence, as Mantaro fisted his hands until knuckles turned white, and pouted with a childish expression.

The lobby was empty. A sharp beam of sunlight caught at the floor-to-ceiling windows, which overlooked the Tokyo cityscape, and the light caught at Mantaro’s eyes, where it emphasised the blue and added a surprising depth them. Kid cricked his neck, before he rubbed at his shoulder. In the training hall, a loud series of grunts and cries and shouts echoed outward. They peeked out from behind a decorative column near the VIP seats, but darted back when Geronimo walked past the bar with a clipboard in hand, and both waited until he left to speak again.

“Yer acting like an injury ain’t normal,” whispered Kid.

“Well, it’s not!” Mantaro pouted. “Not like that! It was like he’d had it for ages, but – like – just hadn’t bothered to get it looked at or something . . . who doesn’t get a medic to look at an injury, at least if it’s just some stupid injury gotten in a fight. It’s just . . . dodgy.”

“‘Dodgy’? Aw, shucks, I bet it’s nothing.”

“So why’d he not get first-aid? Why’s he hiding it? I don’t know, man, I just think maybe we ought to tell someone . . . he gets injured a _lot_. I heard Warsman telling my mom that he caught Robin with a bruise on his face, but – well – how’d he get a bruise like that? It’d only be Warsman and Ms Alisa and Kevin that would see him without his mask, right?”

“What? Are ya implying it’s abuse or somethin’?” Kid shook his head. “It ain’t often, but ah saw him without his mask a few times. It’s normal for a masked rassler; yer get fed up bein’ recognised, so ya sneak out and have a fun time! I bet he just got into a bit o’ a bar-fight.”

“I was thinking more maybe he was sick? Like leukaemia or anaemia?”

“Well . . . I guess he is at that age, y’know?”

Kid peeked back around the column. Between each of the columns, a row of carefully kept flowers marked a perfect line to the wrought-iron fencing styled in fancy patterns, and Kid – carefully looking left and right – stepped into the lobby proper and dropped onto an armchair. The soft leather moulded itself to his skin, and he leaned back with a broad smile. It was too early for paying patrons, but just late enough for the instructors to wander the corridors in search of anyone taking an unauthorised ‘break’. Kid patted the seat beside him. Mantaro sat.

“Mah papa had to slow down, too,” said Kid.

“Yeah, and Wolfman had to retire, ‘cause of his leg,” added Mantaro. “Everyone makes fun of my dad, too, but the fact is that he got really sick and just lost his muscle . . . I kind of figured that maybe Robin’s just – well – _old_. Isn’t he like sixty now or something?”

“Yeah, I bet he’s got grey hair and wrinkles and everything!”

“And joint aches and haemorrhoids!”

“Oh, an’ I bet he’s all: ‘when I was your age, I walked a mile in the snow’.” Kid laughed. “What snow, Pa? We live in freaking Texas! Oh, and he always has problems with his hearin’, right up until you talk shit that he don’t wanna hear, and then suddenly his hearing is enough to hear a pin drop two ranches over. I bet Robin’s just way old, so he bruises easily, that’s all.”

Mantaro laughed. He crossed his legs on the soft cushions. A bowl of complementary fruit lay on the low marble table, which reflected back their smiling expressions, and Kid turned his gaze to the posters that hung from oak frames across the walls. The lobby was a place to showcase the greatest battles of all time . . . _the scramble for the throne, the golden mask, the Olympic games . . ._ Kid saw Terryman in his prime. It was an astounding difference. There was a cold and dark reminder of their mortality, as he saw just what the ravages of time accomplished.

“I wonder if he’ll retire, too,” said Mantaro. “The other Legends are getting on in years, too, right? I think Ramenman is like a hundred or something . . . surprised they can see through the wrinkles at this point. I’d have kicked Robin’s ass, if I weren’t going easy on him!”

“ _Oh, how interesting_ ,” called a voice.

They froze. A few steps came towards them. They came from the side-entrance to the offices, through the walkway past the bar, and up the steps to the VIP lobby, where they stood almost out of sight, half-lost on the peripheral vision of Kid and Mantaro. Mantaro paused with his hand held outstretched towards the fruit bowl, while Kid kept his leg still midway through a stretch, and neither dared move their heads, even as their eyes slowly fixed on the Buffaloman and Ramenman, who glared back at them with arms folded across their chests.

“We are not bears,” said Ramenman.

“We can still see you, even if you stay still!”

Buffaloman was dressed in his fighting outfit. There were a few scrapes and bruises from training, enough that it was likely he lost within the ring, but nothing that matched the damage done to Robin’s wrist. Kid shared a look with Mantaro. Mantaro looked back. They nudged one another and muttered over each other, as they argued while slapping at hands and pointing to their mentors, and soon Ramenman cleared his throat. They stopped. Mantaro leaned towards Kid and covered his mouth with his hand, as he whispered into Kid’s ear:

“Do you think they can hear us?”

“ _We’re not that old yet!”_

They jumped from the armchairs. Mantaro stumbled towards the railing, which he grabbed with both hands and nodded towards the office doors, and Kid – looking rapidly between doors and mentors – bit his lip as he wondered whether they could make it in time. Buffaloman tapped his foot in a quick rhythm, while Ramenman held his hands on his hips. They were both flushed. The eyes were narrowed. Kid stepped around the armchair and stood beside Mantaro, as he nodded and took a hold of the railing in turn, ready to run at the right second. Kid chirped:

“Maybe we can ask ‘em about the olden days?”

“Distract them, you mean?”

“Sure,” chirped Kid. “If they can remember the olden days, that is.”

“ _Oh, that is it,_ ” growled Buffaloman.

Buffaloman charged. They barely had time to jump the railing, as Buffaloman aimed his horns straight for their midsections, and – with perfect synchronicity – Mantaro dove left as Kid dove right, and both headed to the offices and reception area respectively, legs aching with the effort and speed to run at such speed. Kid darted up a spiral staircase, but the quick footsteps behind him indicated that Ramenman was giving chase . . . for a guy so old, he sure moved fast!

* * *

Jade gulped down the water.

It was cool at the back of his throat, easing his fatigue and soothing the ache. He leaned back against the wall, with his skin sticking to the wallpaper with sweat and blood, and – wrenching the half-empty bottle away from his lips – panted and gasped. The hand on his shoulder was callused and cold, while the fingers expertly worked into his muscle. Jade moaned. He was pushed down into a nearby metal chair, while Brocken worked his shoulders.

Jade relaxed the muscles, even as his eyes fixed on Mars in the ring, and he followed every dip and dive as Mars expertly danced across the canvas. He swallowed hard. The thick biceps bulged with each punch, and every attack by Kid was dodged with a natural ease, while long locks of red hair fell about his sharp facial features. Jade gnawed at his lip and fidgeted in his seat, until – with a grunt – a hand slapped him hard across the back of his head. He blushed and lowered his head, while he muttered a ‘sorry’, and allowed Brocken to take care of his health.

“You should not push yourself past your limits,” said Brocken.

“ _Ja, Lehrer_.” Jade cricked his neck. “I just remember videos of your battles; you were fearless, focussed, and fantastic in your techniques! If I had listened to you in my battle with Mars, I would have perhaps won, and if I become more like you in battle –”

“Then you will be less like yourself. The world does not need another ‘Brocken’.”

“But does it truly need ‘Jade’ when I do not feel Jade is enough?”

He bent low to snatch at his towel, which he threw around his shoulders. The hands of Brocken slowly fell away from his upper-back, although they lingered with a familial touch, and soon then dropped to the sides of that old and tattered coat. Jade turned. Brocken pursed his lips into a tight line, while his nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed on the ring, where Mars grunted and flung Kid hard against the canvas. A low scoff escaped him, before he opened his mouth. 

The chastisement died before it was born. Just behind them, Robin appeared within the doorway. He towered where he stood, enough that he blocked out all light from the changing rooms, and – judging by the loud shouts from Mantaro and Kid – a fight had likely been broken apart. He still kept his head high, with the usual confidence one came to expect, and his body was still trim with toned muscles, enough that Jade almost licked at his lips. Robin luckily missed the look, as he clasped his clipboard to his chest and marched towards them.

“Ah, Mr Robin,” chirped Jade.

Robin stopped just beside Brocken. The way his arm was half-raised, with pen poised between his fingers, made it seem as if he were about to speak . . . all eyes turned to Jade. He flushed such a dark shade that his cheeks felt on fire. These were two middle-aged men, both friends and both highly ranked, and Jade had just disturbed what was likely a conversation nothing to do with him, while now both expected him to give a reason for the disturbance. Jade cast his eyes between them, before he caught sight of the nasty looking bruise on Robin’s arm. He muttered:

“Is your arm okay? It looks bruised and painful.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Jade,” said Robin. “I find myself bruising more easily lately . . . old skin tears, old flesh bruises . . . what matters is how well you did in the ring today! Bloody hell, it was like looking at Brocken Junior back in his heyday! Good show, old sport.”

Jade beamed. He quickly turned to Brocken, who nodded with a smile, but – as he turned back to Robin – the clipboard changed arms and a cape was pulled around, so that the bruise was now out of sight and lost behind layers of fabric and board. A conversation broke out . . . _soft laughter, teases in English and German, insults traded_. . . Jade slowly made his way back to the ring, where he leaned against the fabric and watched the sparring match. They failed to notice as he slinked away, but he did not fail to notice how the bruise looked intentionally inflicted . . .

* * *

Kid sighed. The breath appeared like a cloud before him, as it turned to steam and vanished in the chilled air of the parkland, and – much like as a child – he turned his mouth into an ‘O’ and blew out a slow stream like in mimicry of a cigarette. In the Texan winters, Terryman would always nudge him with a gentle laugh . . . _‘Can yer make different shapes? Let me try; ah bet I can make one like a horse’_. . . Kid chuckled at the memory and leaned back.

Mantaro sat beside him on the brick wall, while Jade paced back-and-forth. A stark difference lay between how they dressed; Mantaro was covered in layers upon layers, complete with a woollen hat and mittens, and his teeth chattered away, as he muttered about winters back home being far warmer. Jade wore only a light jacket and gloves, as if he had failed to notice the thermometers were about to hit zero. The two of them barely looked at one another, although both made small talk with Kid, and he shrugged in response to a question said in unison:

“So what do you think?”

The lights flicked on in the Kinniku House. A shadow darted about inside, visible through the eye-like windows of the building, and the lights of a television flickered about, where a new show could vaguely be heard through the partially opened door. Kid shoved his hands into his pockets and looked from face to face, as both stared at him with expectant expressions. He ran a hand through his hair. He shrugged. A half-smiled toyed at his lips, while he kicked at the dirt and watched the condensation forming on the glass. It would frost over by morning.

“I think Jade’s right,” said Kid. “Those definitely ain’t just regular bruises.”

“So he’s like . . . clumsy or something?” Mantaro asked.

“He could be sick, _Ja_ ,” added Jade.

“Yer both way off!” Kid rolled his eyes. “I got a bruise like that once, when mah daddy back-handed me for talking shit about Kinnikuman. I also got bruises like that in the ring, and ah’m pretty sure there ain’t no way to get four parallel ones ‘round yer wrist . . . not unless someone’s grabbed ya real bad! I just don’t get who’d be hurting him at his age, ya know?”

“Huh?” Mantaro frowned. “Who’d be hurting him?”

“Well . . . I mean . . . well, _ah_ don’t know! I figured he’d got to be ashamed about it, ‘cause he’s doing his best to hide them. He’s wearing long sleeves; I know it’s cold an’ all, but who wears long sleeves even in the ring? It’s got to be someone he wants us to know nothing about.”

Kid folded his arms. He tilted his head and pursed his lips. Mantaro shifted from foot to foot beside him, alternating between standing and sitting, and the small slithers of skin were red from the cold, while he constantly sniffed and moaned. Kid sighed and shook his head, before he slapped Mantaro a few times on the back. The two of them sat side-by-side. A few snowflakes fell from the grey skies, enough that Kid took the hand-warmer from his pocket with a smile, and he tossed it to Mantaro who took it with wide-eyed gratitude, as he chirped:

“You think he’s being abused?”

“He is trying to hide his wounds,” said Jade. “It must be a chojin, as no one else would have that strength to overpower him, and it must be someone close enough to him, so as to have access in order to leave such wounds. If he is refusing to tell anyone -?”

“Oh, it’s probably someone he’s trying to protect! I get it!”

“Yeah,” muttered Kid. “Like a _son_ , maybe?”

They fell silent. A cold sweat broke over Kid, as he shivered and bit into his lip. Mantaro limply offered the hand-warmer back with a broken half-smile, but Kid pushed it back towards him and shook his head, and – with a heavy sigh – they sat quietly on the brick wall. The traffic roared on in the distance. A child cried not too far out of sight, while their mother knelt down and pointed towards them . . . _‘see, the chojin are brave, and they don’t cry, can you be brave, too?’_. . . Mantaro smiled and waved to the child, who waved back, and whispered to them: 

“You think _Kevin_ is the one to . . . _hurt_ him?”

“It’d make sense, right?”

“I do not think that is the case,” said Jade. “Kevin has not always been a good man, but his trauma means he has always sought to avoid his father . . . when confronted in matches by this fact, he has broken down or been easily distracted, but he has not grown more violent.”

“No, dude, Kid might be right,” added Mantaro. “Kevin has always been a total jerk, and he’s always been a bit unstable, don’t you think? He nearly killed himself when the Demon Seed attacked, and he nearly missed his match from training in the Olympics, and he’s just like a total hot mess. He _hates_ Robin! If the dude has been pushing him around, I’d believe it.”

“ _Nein_ , I cannot believe that! Still . . . if you are right -?”

“I guess we’d have to report it,” hummed Kid. “Who’d we even report that to, though? Ain’t Robin still the headmaster of the Hercules Factory? Do we tell Ikemen instead, ‘cause he’s chairman and all? I guess we could tell Alisa, but I don’t want to upset her. My pops would likely sock Kevin one, so no point telling him. Maybe we should ask Meat?”

Jade offered a hand to Mantaro. They locked hands, as Jade helped yank him to his feet. They stood beside one another for a brief moment, until Mantaro dropped his head against a sculpted chest and whined about the cold, and Jade – laughing too hard to form words – patted his head like a small lost puppy. Kid lifted his hands to his mouth. He blew warm air on them, as he rubbed them for friction, and his eyes noted skin free from bruises and cuts and marks. Mantaro must have followed his gaze, as his smile died away and he nudged Kid with his foot.

“We can ask Seiuchin, too,” mumbled Mantaro.

“My _Lehrer_ might have an idea, as well.”

The door to the shack opened up, where Meat stood illuminated in the doorway. He waved over to them, while the scent of freshly cooked Texan steak drifted over to them, and Kid quickly squirted disinfectant on his hands, as he prepared to enter the shack. Jade and Mantaro walked quickly over to Meat, with Mantaro running the last few steps. Kid dawdled behind, while he looked to the skies and thought to Robin . . . as if to no one, he whispered:

“I’m sure someone will know what to do.”

* * *

“ _Boys! Stay there.”_

Mantaro flinched. He froze mid-step at the main doors. The glow from the reception was soft and gentle, as it welcomed in any late-night guests or board members, and outside the artificial lights were harsh as they lit up various signs, walkways, and advertisements. Kid nudged him in the side, before he pointed to the revolving doors. It would only take a quick run to make it out onto the main street . . . _fast steps, diving into an alley, covering their uniforms_. . .

There was little time to make their escape. Warsman strode towards them with hands clenched, while he held his head high and threw back his shoulders, and those eyes burned with a terrifying light behind them, as his breath came out in robotic pants . . . _‘koho, koho, koho’_. . . Mantaro shivered. He shoved his hands into his pockets. The smile on his lips was forced, never quite meeting his eyes, and – as Warsman stopped just a few inches before him – he quickly grabbed at Kid’s upper arms and swung him around, so that he acted as a human shield.

Kid swatted at his arms and shouted insults in English, and soon the two of them were constantly fighting to put the other one first, as they alternated in who was first and nearly descended into an outright fight, until a clawed fist rammed itself into the control-pad for the doors. The panel fizzled. Mantaro yelped as the doors ground to a halt, and Warsman towered over them both, as his finger pointed at each of them in turn. It was close enough that it brushed his nose.

“We ain’t done nothing,” muttered Kid.

“Yeah,” chirped Mantaro. “We finished training for the day! I did everything that Meat asked, and I even made all the appearances that Ikemen requested, and I did all my college work that Dad wanted me to finish, too. Did we miss anything? We kind of had plans to go to the _izakaya_ , and – you know – Jacqueline might be there, too, so . . . yeah . . .”

“I got a date lined up, too. My pops said that I was free t’ hit up the karaoke bar, if I finished all mah training an’ stuff . . . Seiuchin, Gazelle, and Jade are all gonna be there. If yer planning on giving us extra work, can it wait ‘til tomorrow? I really don’t wanna be late.”

“Yeah, so if you’ll excuse us –”

“We’ll just be going.”

They both made a beeline for the side-door. Warsman snatched at their collars. It was forceful enough to choke Mantaro, who instinctively grasped at his coat and hood, and – as he stumbled backward – he coughed and spluttered and gasped. They were spun around. Warsman kept a grip on their shoulders, as he forced them so close that their upper arms were pressed against one another, and every breath he took made his chest heave in and out. Mantaro gulped and shot a look to Kid, who shrugged and said nothing in return. They waited.

“I want you to stop pestering Kevin,” ordered Warsman.

Mantaro rapidly blinked. He tried to turn his head to see Kid, but Warsman grasped his chin and jerked his head back forward, and both of them had no choice except to lock gazes with Warsman, who took turns looking them in the eyes. In the distance, Ikemen walked down a flight of stairs with Ramenman and Harabote. They saw the scene by the doors. They walked back. It would only be a matter of time before the entire building cleared out for the night, but Mantaro had a feeling no one would come to their rescue . . . they would avoid it at all cost.

“We – er – haven’t,” said Mantaro.

“Yes, _you have_ ,” spat Warsman. “I am aware of the rumours that you have both started; they are circulating at an alarming rate among both generations, and it has upset Robin to have things awkward between him and Kevin once more, as their relationship was going so well. Now, thanks to what Kevin has heard, it has triggered old grudges and grievances.”

“Well, we were – were – were . . . just . . . _worried_.”

“Ah, you were worried?” Warsman stepped closer. “You did not think to speak to Kevin? You did not think to file an official complaint? Now Kevin is the subject of rumours and scandal, with his friends treating him differently and his mentors looking at him with concern, and he struggles to be around his father now that it has forced him to think back to his childhood.

“He believes Robin has started these rumours, which has made him resentful. It is dangerous all around, especially if this goes further and the papers get a hold of this ‘story’, and you risk ruining both their reputations. Did you not think if Alisa heard these stories? Laura? Paul or Vanessa Mackintosh? This stops _now_. Do you understand me? If I hear one more rumour, I am going straight to both your fathers and _I’ll_ be your trainer from here on out.”

Mantaro gulped. Warsman let go of them. He stood so close that he struggled to lower his arms without brushing against them, and he slowly stepped back with deep and slow breaths . . . Mantaro bit the inside of his cheek, as he thought to Warsman’s intense training methods against Kevin, which including striking the younger man with a _wrecking-ball_. Kid rubbed at his chin, while he pouted and glared at Warsman. Warsman looked him over slowly from feet to head, before – with a scoff – turning his back on them and walking away. Kid spat out:

“But he keeps getting bruises!”

Warsman stopped. He kept his back to them, as he stopped just a few feet ahead. The two of them remained locked in place, even as Gazelleman and Checkmate darted behind them out of the side-door with muttered apologies, and Kid and Mantaro shared a look, as they nudged at one another and jerked their heads towards Warsman. The lights caught at his black skin, emphasising the lines about his person and the curve to his back. He bore the body of a thirty-something at most, thanks to his cyborg nature, and his temper was just as fresh.

“So you assume abuse?” Warsman scoffed. “It could be an iron deficiency. It could be self-harm. It could be a result of training past his limits. You can only know by talking to him, but – I can promise you – it most certainly is _not_ abuse! I have spoken to Robin, if you must know, and he says that he plans to speak to a doctor. Let this be the end of the matter, yes?”

“Yeah, but what will the doctor say if –?”

“Do you know more than a doctor, Mantaro? Robin will have blood tests and a physical examination, and I am sure it will be by the best doctors that money can buy. This will answer any questions we all have. In the meantime, stop with these childish accusations.”

“Yeah, but what if something more _is_ goi–”

“ _Stop_ ,” warned Warsman.

He lifted a hand high. The index finger pointed upward. It was a final warning, before he marched across the vast reception towards the private hallway towards the dressing rooms, and soon he disappeared out of sight, letting Mantaro and Kid heave a huge sigh in unison. Mantaro clasped his hands behind his neck and leaned back, while Kid dropped his shoulders and fell forward, and Mantaro counted the rapid beats of his heart, as he slinked towards the side-door with Kid following close behind. The cold air hit them both hard.

“I guess he told us,” muttered Kid.

The harsh lights outside hid the stars out of sight, casting a strange glow that only ever remained present in the cities, and Kid handed Mantaro a scarf the very second the door closed behind them, while whispering something that sounded like a chastisement. They walked toward the main street, where a group of friends waved them over with smiles and laughter, but something still dwelled on Mantaro . . . it brought bile to the back of his throat, as he muttered:

“Yeah, I guess he did . . .”

* * *

Suguru sat down with a groan. The stars above Beverly Park were still blocked out by the harsh lights of the cityscape, while all around people laughed and joked and argued, and it teamed with life in a way that one rarely found outside of Japan, so that one rarely felt alone. A sharp burning sensation struck at his joints, where the pain of his haemorrhoids had him shifting from buttock to buttock. He struggled to focus his eyes in the darkness without glasses. 

It was as Bibimba always said . . . _he had aged._ He now knew his limitations, but still . . . when he saw Mantaro bounding over towards him, with such a bright smile and endless energy . . . a twinge of jealousy struck hard at his hard. Mantaro was still in his prime. The bulging muscles would attract many women, while his bright and cloudless eyes would persuade many a chairman, and he still had a world of potential at his fingertips. Suguru patted the swing beside him. Mantaro sat down, while he kicked out and rocked back and forth, as Mantaro said:

“I’m kind of shocked you found time to come down.”

A long laugh escaped Suguru. It burned the back of his throat, where lately bile was a familiar taste, and his chest ached with the force of the laughter, until said laughter turned to a coughing fit and he was forced to take deep breaths. Mantaro furrowed his brow. Suguru raised a hand and shook his head, while he forced a smile that deepened the lines about his eyes, which were shadowed by the now over-sized mask. A low breeze swept over the park, bringing goose-bumps across his pale flesh marked with age-spots. Suguru nudged Mantaro with his foot.

“If it helps, I _may_ have just locked the bedroom door and sneaked out.” Suguru winked and chuckled. “We all have our secrets, right? I know that a certain someone has been sneaking out to see Jacqueline Muscle, and – well – I’m all for that, but you need to stop saying that you’re going to meet Kid and coming back with your uniform inside out! Meat’s getting the wrong idea. I keep telling him not to say anything to Terryman, but . . . well . . .”

“He – He hasn’t, has he? I’m already in trouble with Warsman and –”

“Ramenman still bears a grudge from how you called him ‘old’, too. Robin also thinks you’re slacking in classes again, and Buffaloman said he saw you in a bar the other night, but – _ha!_ – I soon shut him up when I asked how he knew that when he was supposed to be in a meeting! Still, I was worried about you, son. You caused quite a problem between Kevin and Robin.”

“I just got the wrong idea, that’s all.”

“Hmm, that’s an understatement.” Suguru sighed. “It brought up a lot of bad memories with Kevin, and the poor mite already distrusted Robin as things stood, and I think he’s blamed Robin for spreading the rumours . . . I know you mean well, but the fact is – well – none of us are getting younger. I lost muscle mass, gained weight, and I’ve all sorts of health problems, but it’s all just because of age and illness. You _know_ that. What worries you about this?”

Mantaro wiped at his eyes with his palm. There was a tremble to his lips, as his eyes filled with unshed tears, and he slowly came to a stop on the swing, as his feet instead kicked at the dirt with slow and deliberate movements. It was rare to see Mantaro with such emotion. The last time had been when Suguru had told him the extent of his health . . . just before his arrival on Earth . . . Suguru kept his head low and avoided meeting his gaze. A light flickered on from within Kinniku House, while Mantaro sniffed and sobbed beside him.

“I don’t want him to die,” muttered Mantaro.

The smile died on Suguru’s lips. He held tight to the chains of the swing, before he pulled himself upright and the chains squeaked with the rocking motion. The ground was cold, as he slowly knelt before Mantaro, and – holding back a loud groan – every nerve felt set aflame, as a searing heat shot through his legs and waist. He pulled Mantaro close, while he rubbed circles on his back and hummed an old lullaby they would sing to him as a newborn. Mantaro soon ceased crying, as he pulled back and Suguru wiped away his tears with his thumbs. Suguru whispered: 

“Why’d you think that, m’boy?”

“What if he’s got something like cancer?” Mantaro winced. “I always worried something bad would happen to you, but no one said something bad might happen to someone else . . . what if it breaks Kevin? What if the new headmaster of the Hercules Factory sucks? What if –?”

“What if you get hit by a car tomorrow?” Suguru shrugged. “Life happens when you’re busy making other plans, and death happens when you’re busy living life. The fact is any of us could die at any time, but Robin Mask -? Nope! He just had his physical, and he’s in perfect health, better than me or Wolfman! He just needs to stop going so hard in the ring, that’s all.”

“Really?”

“I promise, Mantaro. He’ll be fine.”

Mantaro threw his arms around Suguru. It was the first real hug in some time . . . _‘dad, I’m too grown up for cuddles!’, ‘no way, I’m a man now and men don’t hug’_. . . it brought back memories of when he’d crawl into bed between both parents, and how – after hogging all the blankets – he would wrap his arms around that most precious bundle. He now smelled of cologne instead of baby powder. Suguru chuckled and put his hands on both cheeks, so that he could pull Mantaro back just enough to plant a kiss to his forehead. He said in a warm voice:

“It’s nice of you to worry, though.”

A faint smile broke across Mantaro, as if the small piece of praise meant the world. Suguru tried to stand, but the pain was too much and the fatigue hit hard, and Mantaro – without a word – immediately stood and helped him to stand. They remained side-by-side, each one holding onto the forearms of the other, and Suguru patted at those cheeks with a gentle touch. He tried to take the image of his son and forever memorise it in his mind, as he whispered:

“You’re a good boy, son.”

* * *

“So we just ignore it, huh?”

Kid furrowed his brow, while he clasped his hands behind his neck. He leaned back against the cold lockers in the changing room, while Mantaro struggled to pull on his tights, and he currently lay flat on his back with legs in the air, as he rocked and rolled on the bench. It was hardly elegant, but – with the sweat from training – it was effective in the grand scheme of matters. Mantaro soon yanked them onto his legs, before he collapsed back onto the bench with legs splayed indelicately and arms thrown over his head. He said in a low groan:

“If it were important, my dad would’ve said something.”

“Yer joking, right?” Kid laughed. “I know your pappy! He’d not tell you nothing, because he sure ain’t going to worry his little angel, but . . . yeah . . . all the Legends had their physicals, and they were all good, right? I mean, it was kind of funny that Ramenman has arthritis after all the fuss he pulled about not being old. I got ‘im a pair of slippers for his birthday.”

“Seiuchin got him a card that says something like ‘better to be over the hill than under it’.” Mantaro chuckled. “It made me laugh when he translated it. I mean, I guess it’s true that they are just older, right? I know we should tease them less, but maybe it’s true.”

“Robin’s got a family that loves him, and students that adore him.”

“So we’ve nothing to worry about?”

“Nah!” Kid shrugged. “If anything, we ought to throw the guy a party or somethin’! Well, ya know, ah’d be willing to bet everyone’d turn up! It’ll be nice, like we can show him we’re sorry and just how much he means to us . . . maybe he’ll go less in the ring, if he knows we still respect him. Ain’t no one wants to see him go overboard!”

Mantaro laughed. Kid tossed him the rest of his uniform, before he walked over to the window. It was hazed over for privacy, which forced Kid to open it wide, and once again the cold air blew inside with a heavy draught, enough that Mantaro yelped out a loud complaint. The Legends gathered outside for final goodbyes, as they prepared to go home for the holidays . . . Brocken stood with Jade, ready to travel together, while Suguru followed Wolfman to a nearby restaurant, and Kevin stood to the sides, as Warsman and Robin double-checked plane tickets.

“I’m sure my dad would attend a party,” chirped Mantaro.

“Everyone would! Robin’s the best.”

Kid slapped at Mantaro’s shoulder. A few of the younger generation would remain in Japan, others would visit friends or other countries, and outside was a chaotic mass of goodbyes and hellos and various interactions of different generations. They stayed at the window. Kid smiled and squeezed at Mantaro’s shoulder, while his mind ran through a thousand different options for the party, and – on everyone’s return – they would finally show their appreciation. Mantaro leaned against the windowsill, while Suguru waved up at them and signalled to come down.

“I’m glad it’s all okay,” said Kid.

* * *

_A ringing slap struck at his cheek._

_The pain ran through every nerve, as the skin burned at the touch. He clasped his mask at his side, while his chest heaved up and down beneath his overcoat, and he stood still on the doormat, as his coat dripped down onto the clean tiles below. The door slammed behind him. It was loud enough to rattle the frame, while a sharp pain ran down his eardrum. He remained still. He half-closed his eyes, while footsteps paced quickly beside him, and soon they stopped a few feet before him, where the only sounds were hissed breaths through flared nostrils._

_It took several fast beats of his heart in order to open his eyes. The adrenaline coursed through every vein, as his head grew light and his body swayed, and his hands trembled at his side, causing his mask to rattle against the metal of his belt. The coat clung against him like a second-skin, while the cut on his lip started to trickle downward. He tasted iron. Strangely, the pain on his lip was nothing like the still tingling ache to his cheek. He blinked back tears._

_‘You’re late,’ spat Alisa._

_He dropped his gaze. The sharp blue of her eyes was partially hidden beneath her glare, while her greying hair was pulled back into a tight pony-tail, and her cheeks were pale in the darkness, like looking into the face of a ghost. This was not the woman he married. He licked away the blood from his trembling lips, as his face contorted between frowns and smiles in his need to weep. The stinging pain lingered on the split flesh. Robin watched as she walked away . . . her back to him, her hands clenched into fists . . . he obediently followed with a forced smile._

_‘I’m sorry, dear,’ said Robin._


End file.
